The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Ronde came. Kregel had been missing for a week, and no one knew more than that he had received a letter from home, about which he was visibly offended and upset. He was one of the abandoned Germans who lived in the stolen land of the area of Kolmar. One day a royal forester came to the Colonel and reported that children had found a soldier hanging in a tree. They had however, immediately ran away in fright and now no longer knew where the place was. And so he thought one or two companies should search the forest so that the dead man could be buried in the ground. So we went in search of Kregel and roamed through the large pine forest. As we slipped through the thickets and sticks it happened to me that I got completely lost from the others and when I shouted for the others as commanded in such cases received no answer. When I was so alone with myself, I had to think about Kregel, who was now freed from all torture and torment. How, was it not most clever, to put this dog’s life behind him? I thought how yesterday an eighteen-year-old boy, the Squire von Denwitz, had stabbed me with a rapier, the tip of which had lead embedded in it, because there was a chalk stain on my coat from cleaning the white stuff; how the corporals beat us to their hearts’ content, how miserable the food was that was served to us like sows in large tin buckets; how the bread crunched with sand when it was cut. All this would have been bearable. But that no hope showed itself, how and when it could ever get better, that one day after another was filled with curses and sorrow, to allow another, just as gruesome, to rise, that was the bad thing. For man must have some hope, if he is not to wither and wilt. In this hard school, which God’s hand had thrust me into, I learned to force myself. I didn’t make a face when my breast ached from burning pity for the unjustly mistreated, and I kept silent about the most severe insults which I received by anyone who was elevated by a braid or finer cloth. Perhaps it was a punishment that had come to me. But then it could also be an eternal justice, but how was that possible when far worse than I could live in joy and glory until the end of their lives. So why did this burden of suffering fall on me? What purpose could higher powers, if there were any, have pursued with me by placing on me burdens of my own and other people’s torment, to endow me with the finest sensibility for every injustice that happened to others and gave me more sensitive feelings than probably all my comrades? They cracked their jokes even when the worst and most unbearable of arbitrariness had happened to them, and found full consolation with a glass of schnapps and in the arms of their soldier’s wives. I was mad at everything that had hitherto been upright and consoling of my being and I could not believe what was happening in front of me day in and day out, I could not believe in a divine meaning of all these events. What does a person do who lives in a chamber with hostile, crude, violent, bad, cowardly, false, and evil people and sees no one in the whole circle, who wants to create order and justice and has the ability to do so? One leaves such a chamber. He closes the door behind him and rejoices, to have escaped the abominable existence in such a room. So I now thought to act. Kregel, the poor lad from Alsace, had shown me the way. And there were enough trees all around; I wanted to attach my trouser belt to some branch. I prepared to walk across the small sunlit clearing to finish my last deed in the deciduous wood when I had to stop, because in the middle of the open space sat someone, and I was not alone. It was the man in the robe with the black turban. He was resting on a tree stump and his walking stick lay beside him in the forest moss. His noble hands held the string with amber beads. It was Ewli. Once again the strange man, whose small image was under the high glass dome in my children’s room, stepped in my path in an intangible way. How did the stranger in his unusual dress get everywhere? Unmolested, and not even noticed by the children, he had been sitting at the wayside shrine, when the Prussian recruiters came for me and my companions of fate, until the recruiters took me and my comrades away on their wagon. At that time I could not connect him with myself any more than I could about his mysterious interest with my person in the prayer-filled church. And just as I did not find him in front of the church anymore, he had disappeared from my view at the lime trees of Distelsbruck. This time, however, he was to speak to me before I started the work of self-destruction. Nevertheless, I could not put one foot in front of the other. Because the man from the Orient was not alone. In front of him stood a deer, which rubbed its narrow head flatteringly against Ewli’s knees. In his hand, which held a birdcage, perched a jay with a pinkish-grey head and blue wing feathers, and in the bramble bush to his right chirped uncounted colorful balls of feathers. Two squirrels, chasing each other, a reddish-brown one and a black one, went up onto his body, hiding themselves in the folds of his robe, rolling and chattering, and to my horror the reddish brown one suddenly disappeared into his robe, as if it had melted into the same color of the coarse fabric, while the second one crawled onto the black turban, lost its outline and did not appear again. I looked at the face of Ewli, overcome by the radiance of his eyes. Was he looking at me? Were the dark stars directed into the far distance? I did not know, I just felt how warm, divine love enveloped me. Slowly, however, he stood up, walked across the clearing and disappeared between the tall trees. Then I came to and was able to move. I ran. Where were the animals? Not a bird, not a deer was to be seen. Where was Ewli? I ran into the middle of the high wood and suddenly stood among my comrades. They had just found Kregel and cut him down. Horrible to look at, black-blue and green spots on his face, the swollen ink-colored tongue stretched out, with open, complaining eyes, he lay on the ground, the rope in the furrow of his neck. Nobody paid any attention to me. They had spades with them and dug in the deep, soft forest soil, where the mouse tunnels ran crisscross and root snakes crawled. It was late when we were finished. In the evening-red sky an endless train of crows flew silently. “That means war!” said Wetzlaff and looked at me.
How long had we been in the field? Nobody reckoned anymore, nobody knew. I was camped with four comrades in bitter winter. We had found makeshift quarters in a burned-down farmhouse. All we had were two piles of rotten, damp straw and a blanket singed by campfires. And this miserable property we had to protect and guard, so that not even more miserable ones stole it. The rifles had to be constantly cleaned without stopping. After a day they were red again with rust. Zulkov had frozen the toes of both feet. They were black and stank like the plague. I had to treat Repke with gun powder and a residue of brandy to wash out a graze on his back because no one else would do it, and he screamed so loudly that I took pity on him. Wetzlaff had gotten severe diarrhea and every five minutes he walked on wobbly legs in front of the house. Where he had squatted the snow was bloody all around from his stool. In the night he moaned so much, that no one could sleep. And although we all endured, they threw everything at him in the dark that they could grab with their hands. Then he limped out again to relieve himself with convulsions. The quietest of us all, a gloomy person named Kühlemiek, read in a small, tattered hymnal next to the fire and sometimes murmured: “O Lord, have mercy on me a sinner!” Repke was happy when I had bandaged his back again with old rags, and put dry nut leaves in his pipe. “The king has said -” he wanted to begin. But Wetzlaff interrupted him snorting: “He has said! He has said! If the King lets one go, you miserable wretches are blissful with doglike awe. Oh, you starving ribs, you cannon fodder! What is it then that makes such a king so great?” “Fridericus Rex is the greatest war hero of all time, you poisonous toad!” roared Zulkov. “Dare not to insult His Majesty!” “Dear brothers in Christ,” pleaded Kühlemiek, “turn your thoughts to the One who has entrusted all of our lives in His grace-giving hands!” “Shut up, old pietist!” Repke shouted at him, “Let Wetzlaff speak!” “Oooh!” he groaned, and hurriedly ran out again. We heard the sound of his discharges and his groaning all the way into the house. Then he came back again, white as lime, and let himself fall on the straw. “As I say, a man must edify and revive himself in the Lord and King,” Zulkov said after a while. “But there are some who forget the oath…” “Do you mean me?” asked Wetzlaff, straightening up with difficulty. “Refresh yourself, as much as you can with that cold fire that you have on your hind claws. Yes, you sheep’s head, so that Friederich can be a great war hero, you must keep your toes in your shoes, my intestines have to bleed out, a thousand have to be shoveled into the pits. I ask one, when all around, with the Austrians over there and us over there, if there were such guys as me, there would be no more king and empress, but also no war and no people-beating. But you are in general too stupid to understand such things. And from this stupidity of yours all kings and generals, princes and counts and barons down to our squire with the ass face live equally in glory and joy and sit enthroned like peacocks in all majesty, while we are kept as cattle and are driven to the slaughter with the trilling of pipes and the beating of drums. O you damned, thick-skinned fool, you horse-apple brains…”
Appendix: Table Talk and Memorabilia of Mary Anne Atwood, Part 1
Introduction: Mary Anne Atwood’s reflections unveil the Hermetic art’s spiritual essence, guiding the soul to divine wisdom through alchemical transformation. This appendix distills key principles, offering insights into the sacred process of awakening the light within.
The Alchemy of the Will
Atwood reveals that the Hermetic art, or “Holy Alchemy,” ferments the human spirit to awaken its divine potential. By aligning the will with God’s law, as seen in Moses’ righteous power versus the Egyptians’ self-willed magic, the adept transforms the soul’s essence into a radiant “Philosopher’s Stone,” the true form of divine light. This process, reversing the soul’s natural flow, connects it to the “Universal Loadstone,” the creative force of existence.
The art’s power lies in its ability to draw the Universal Spirit into the individual, as Atwood notes: “The mind becomes related to the Universal Vitalising Power.” This mirrors the fermentation of life, where the soul, freed from bodily chains, achieves immortality through divine unity.
The Threefold Life and Divine Order
Atwood describes three lives—terrestrial (animal), celestial (vegetable), and infernal (mineral)—each dominant in its natural kingdom and residing in humanity’s head, heart, and lumbar regions. The Hermetic art reverses their order, raising the infernal life through the celestial to receive divine light. This aligns with Boehme’s principles, where the “third life” becomes a medium for perceiving the divine, purified by a contrite will.
The adept, through disciplined fermentation, as Basil Valentine’s Keys illustrate, transforms the vital force’s magnetic attraction, creating a “heavenly body” from an earthly one, as the soul merges with its eternal source.
The Sacred Process of Transformation
The Hermetic process, as Atwood explains, involves a “vital chemistry” that dissolves the soul’s natural bonds, regenerating it under a divine law. The “Golden Fleece” symbolizes the radiant light enveloping the adept in this third life, while the “Caput Mortuum” preserves the body’s essence for restoration. This art, guided by love and faith, ensures the soul’s purity, avoiding the demonic pitfalls of self-will, as seen in ancient idolatry.
Closing: This appendix unveils the Hermetic art’s spiritual principles, transforming the soul into divine light. The journey into further reflections deepens in our next post, unveiling more secrets of this sacred art.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
He was a tall, very young boy with sunken cheeks. Apart from his pants and shoes, he was wearing only a dress shirt. He was shivering from frost and fear. Kregel was his name. All the sticks stood steeply in the air. Two sergeants walked at our backs to see who would be casual about the beating. The drums started pounding and the man was pushed into the alley. He ran. The sticks whistled, clapped down on him, the tatters flew off his shirt and skin. He shouted something that you couldn’t understand. I hit him on the neck, and saw raw flesh splattering. But he was through, and outside he fell down on all fours. They grabbed him and pulled him up. He groaned. “Forward!” shouted the provost. The deserter’s eyes protruded out of their sockets, saliva ran from his open mouth. His lips were torn. He was running again. The sticks struck smacking, blood ran, and chunks flew. The man jumped, bent down while running, whined like a dog, stretched out his beaten and swollen hands, pulled them back screaming when a blow hit the knuckles, fell to the ground and collapsed like a sack at the end of the double row. He lay motionless, gray in the face. One could see his heart beating furiously under the bleeding skin; under the back, on which he was lying, a dark pool formed. The army doctor came, took a breath and laid his hand on the ribs of the prone man, then beckoned two soldiers and told them to turn the unconscious man over. Then he pulled out a bottle of wine spirit from his bag and poured it on the torn back. With a piercing cry of pain, the runner came to. “He’s beeping again!” said the man next to me, Wetzlaff. “They always recover their strength with the palm leaf!” They picked up the senselessly slurring man and pushed him into the alley for the third and last time. But this time he did not get far. After a third of the way he fell down, and as much as his comrades tried, even from behind by beating him with a stick urging him on, he did not move any longer. “Now he is done for!” said one of them, and the sticks lowered. But all of a sudden the fallen man jumped up and shot like an arrow through the alley. A few blows hit, the others missed. Furious, the corporals beat those who had allowed themselves to be fooled. “Such a false dog – such a cunning scoundrel!” they scolded. Outside the alley, the runner stood still and smiled in spite of his pain. From above came a peculiar giggling sound. We looked up. At the windows of the officers’ quarters stood a number of preened ladies, holding handkerchiefs in front of their mouths and laughing their heads off. “Plum – plum – berum!” Warned the drums, urging us to move in.
In the guardroom, an oil sparkle was burning. The wall was thickly stained with squashed bugs. The bottles of brandy were empty, and the tobacco smoke drifted in blue clouds under the sooty ceiling. It had been a retreat for a long time, but no one stretched out on the cot. “If only she comes, Kinner!” said Private Hahnfuss, “but such prizes are smarter than clever!” But he had not yet finished speaking when the door opened and Wetzlaff entered with the girl. The sergeant nodded, looked at the thing with a half a glance, and then, as if by chance, walked quickly out of the guardroom. Behind him the door was immediately locked and barred. The soldier-Catherine now stood alone among the many men in the middle of the room and looked from one to the other. Her cheeky smile became anxious and shy. Her hood was crumpled, the striped skirt was stained, and the heels on her shoes were badly worn. She scratched her hip. But when everyone remained silent, she became afraid and made a movement as if she wanted to run away. She threw a stray glance at the closed door and then she said with a gulp in her throat: “Well, you won’t let me out, boys?” “That’s the way it is, girl,” said the corporal, putting the burning sponge to his pipe. “You lied to us. Didn’t you?” “I keep my mouth shut,” she said, “what’s this all about? What am I supposed to have lied about?” “We asked you once how it was with your internal health, girl – didn’t we? Because otherwise – we would not touch you! And now look at Beverov! – Come here to me, Beverov!” One of the guards stepped forward. The corporal opened his coat, vest and shirt. The man’s chest was covered with nasty red spots. “Do you know what that is, little Cathrine?” the corporal asked treacherously. “They are – real Frenchmen aren’t they!” In the girl’s face shock alternated with fear and anger. “From me? From me?” she shrieked and put her hands on her hips. “You pack of louses, you tripe eaters – I’m still with the sergeant – let’s see if -“ “It’s the same!” the corporal interrupted her and at the same time hit her so hard on the mouth that she cried out. But then she was silent. A drop of blood stood on her lower lip. “Down with the skirt!” She screamed, squealed like a rat, kicked her feet and bit. But it did her no good against the fists that were angrily attacking her from all sides. In a few moments she was standing in the pathetic nakedness of her spent body, writhing under the hard hands that held her wrists and arms. “Bring the lamp!” The corporal shone the oil sparkler all around her. A hot drop fell on her skin, making her cry out. “Don’t worry – you’re not going to be roasted!” he reassured her. “Look, comrades there -!” And he pointed with his finger to many white spots, which clearly stood out from the brownish skin of the neck and the shoulders. “Do you still want to deny that you have the French, are contaminated and infectious, you lout, you?” She did not answer. But then she raised her head and spat her reddish saliva right into the corporal’s face. “Well wait, you human!” He said calmly and wiped his face with his sleeve. “What do you think comrades? I’m for some horseplay.” “Do it!” everyone shouted. “Horseplay!” “You are a fungus from birth,” continued the corporal, blowing the stinging smoke of his smoldering pipe into her face. “What do you want to be? A fox – or what?” “Damned pig,” she hissed and cringed, snatching at the restraining hands and snapping. “I want out! Let me out! Let me out!” “Black is my favorite color!” the private shouted into the hubbub. “Give me the boot polish -!” Amidst roaring laughter, in which the voice of the desperate creature was drowned, they spat into the jerk-off boxes, dipped the coarse brushes into them and went to it. So far I had sat on a cot as in half anesthesia and watched the incomprehensible to me happenings. But now I was seized with horror and agonizing pity for the miserable, broken and destroyed creature. I saw how they reached for her, heard the insane shrieks and screams of the martyred woman, as they dragged her by the hair and stepped on her bare feet with their clumsy shoes. She squirmed like an eel, screamed with a squeal when one of them approached with a whip in his hand, whimpered for mercy and in one breath uttered the most vile curses. “What do you want with the wench?!” I shouted at Wetzlaff and held him by the sleeve. “Well first she must be scrubbed shiny,” he grinned in my ear. “And then she must run at the long leash until she can no longer. That’s our horseplay, boy!” A shrill scream went up. The corporal had grabbed her from behind and held her tightly, however much she resisted. “Go for it, comrades!” he encouraged the others. Then I jumped over, tore his hands from her trembling body and stood wide in front of her. “Let her go!” I shouted loudly. “Let her go!” “Oho!” he roared back at me. “Look! Dronte!” With his fists clenched and his face contorted in anger Wetzlaff stepped toward me. I looked at him firmly and calmly. His angry eye strayed from mine, his clenched fists opened. The others fell silent, looking at me as if amazed. “Comrades,” I said, “have mercy. She is not guilty. And she is as poor and abandoned as the rest of us!” No one answered. I went to the door, without anyone trying to hinder me and opened it. Then I bent down, picked up the prostitute’s rags and gave them to her. “Go, Cathrine!” I heard myself speak, in the surrounding silence. She stared at me with wide eyes, bent down as if to kiss my hand, then laughed hoarsely and was out in one leap. We heard her walk on bare soles along the stone-paved courtyard. Nobody said anything. Slowly, people put boxes and brushes to their designated places. One of them yawned loudly. Then Wetzlaff laughed strangely, stood in front of me, swayed his head back and forth and looked at me penetratingly. “It is so,” he growled. “Dronte has it in the gaze- He has the power in his eye.” No one remarked anything to it. Silently they stretched out on the hard cots to get some more sleep before Ronde arrived.
Introduction: The Hermetic art unveils the philosopher’s stone as the key to divine wisdom, uniting the soul with universal truth through reason and faith. This final section reflects on the art’s transformative power, urging seekers to pursue the light within.
The Lost Wisdom of the Ancients
Modern science, as Atwood laments, prioritizes external utility, dismissing the ancient wisdom that sought causal truth. The “catholic torch” of Hermetic philosophy, kindled by divine light, reveals the soul’s potential to transcend sensory limits, as Bacon’s pursuit of causes unwittingly echoed. The ancients’ poetic fables, far from mere stories, encoded a profound understanding of life’s essence, now lost to “spiritless interpretations.”
This wisdom, accessible through introspective inquiry, offers a “golden ore” of truth, illuminating the soul’s path to divine harmony, unlike the fleeting gains of external pursuits.
The Call to Seek Within
The Hermetic art, as Atwood urges, invites the adept to seek the “Root of Reason” within, overcoming the “turbulent sea of sense.” This journey, guided by faith and disciplined inquiry, unveils the philosopher’s stone—a radiant essence that transforms mind and matter. The adept, as the Kabalah suggests, aligns with divine will, becoming a vessel of universal light that radiates joy and wisdom.
Unlike modern sciences, which fragment knowledge, the Hermetic art unites moral and physical realms, offering a holistic truth that fulfills humanity’s deepest aspirations.
The Promise of Divine Light
The philosopher’s stone, as Atwood concludes, is the “nucleus of the Hermetic Mystery,” embodying the light of life. Those who pursue it with sincerity, as the ancients did, will find the “Promised Land” of divine wisdom, as Proverbs declares: “Wisdom is better than rubies.” This sacred art, accessible only to the studious and faithful, promises a future where truth prevails, transforming society through enlightened understanding.
Closing: This chapter unveils the Hermetic art’s transformative call to divine wisdom. The journey into its future rediscovery by modern minds begins anew, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.
Chapter 23 The City Council of Heliopolis and the Circle of Elders
Tara and Nick were the next to join in the dance. Tara had always been into dance, but this was the first time he had seen Nick get into it. Again Tobal was impressed at how the winter had matured Nick. Then he thought of the changes in his own life. He was not the child that had been dropped off at sanctuary almost a year ago.
He realized he had been here one year and he still had one more newbie to train. He was not going to beat Rafe’s record after all. Looking around the room he spied Mike and Butch talking with some girls and urging them to dance. They were laughing and having fun. He figured that Mike and Butch were also looking for newbies. A murmur rippled through the crowd, pulling Tobal’s attention from the laughter to hushed whispers about Sarah, Anne, Derdre, and Seth still at the village with Crow. Rumors of jailed Elders added a tense edge, though they seemed old news from last month.
Wanting to hear something new, he looked around for Ellen and Rafe. He spied Ellen over in a corner talking with Rafe and made a beeline toward them, trying not to spill his tankard in the jostling crowd. At least it was warm in here, he thought, moving past bodies that smelled of wood smoke.
“We can’t talk in here,” he shouted to Ellen above the drum beat.
She nodded and shouted back, “We are meeting in the brewery in a few minutes.”
Tobal nodded and went off to find Fiona, Becca, and Nikki to tell them about the meeting. Their robes were still wet but warmer, and they put them back on before dashing over to the brewery where they took them back off and found places around the fire to sit. They folded their robes and sat on them on the wooden floor.
Ellen and Rafe welcomed them, and Ellen brought everyone up to date on what had been going on with the Council of Elders.
“We tried everything we could think of to contact the city government through the communications and computer systems we have access to,” she said. “What happened was we were warned not to make contact with the city and just to mind our own business. The city will contact us when we are ready to become citizens. We are not part of the city yet and have no legal rights until we complete our training and become citizens.”
“These messages were prominently displayed on each air sled monitor screen and on the computers at home base. No one even thought to come to us in person to explain or hear our concerns,” she said bitterly.
“This did not sit well with the Council of Elders, especially since the arrest and questioning of the five of us that had been sent to the village. We were released, but the Council of Elders now realized someone thought they had the power to arrest clansmen anytime they wanted and hold them without cause. They believed this same someone was responsible for the rogue attacks. The council wants to know why these things are happening and if they are happening with the approval of the city.”
Ellen looked around the small group. “The final decision was that the same five delegates would journey on air sleds to Sanctuary and then cross the wall into the city. We would find a place with lots of people and set our sleds down and wait for the authorities. We would probably be arrested, but the city itself was populated with clansmen. We were counting on that bond of kinsman to get a fair hearing.”
She grinned, “I was the first to go across the wall and land my air sled in a central area. The others followed me in. Even before we had landed, a crowd of people appeared wondering what was going on. I called out that there was an emergency, and one of the citizens nodded and started talking on her cell phone. Several of the others were also on cell phones. It was a matter of minutes before authorities arrived and put us on some type of air transport. We were not arrested or treated as prisoners, but we certainly were not given any choice about things either.”
“They took us down to the police station where we gave our statements.” She laughed, “It was obvious that the persons involved wanted no part of this and were way over their heads. They passed us on to the mayor who listened and then called an emergency session of the City Council. This was against the strong opposition of someone wearing a Federation military uniform. I gathered this uniformed person was the representative of the mountain complex and the ones that had arrested us.”
“I was elected the spokesperson for our group,” she told them, “and with grim determination I faced the City Council and told our story of being arrested and questioned, about the massacre at the lake and the mass grave, how it was a forbidden area. I told them about the rogue attacks that were centered around the lake itself and the attempt to make it seem the village was responsible for those attacks.
Then I told them that was impossible because the rogues have some way of tracking anyone that has med-alert bracelets and are able to hide in a way that the villagers can’t. I told them of the rumors the city was going to lead an attack on the village. Several members of the City Council looked at each other quickly, and at least a couple had red faces.”
“They weren’t the only ones,” she continued. “I could see the man in uniform getting redder and redder and angrier and angrier. I spoke about Crow who had grown up in the village and now wanted to become a citizen. How his concern for the safety of his village was the reason that led him to make the journey back with four of his friends. The entire group is still within monitor range of our air sleds, and they can visit the village according to our own Council of Elders.”
“I told them how we were suddenly alerted that the village was forbidden and that we needed to keep Crow and his friends from going there. That was not right. I faced the City Council and told them Crow was technically a citizen of the village and had every right to be there. He could also bring friends if he chose to do so. Then I mentioned how the air sleds went back to the base and were severely reprimanded and ordered back out to bring Crow and his friends back by force.”
“The City Council was pretty quiet by then,” Ellen said. “They listened as I told them of the confrontation between Howling Wolf and the other villagers that offered to protect Crow and the others. I told them how I was there and that pressing the issue then could have resulted in injury or death to innocent people.
At the mention of Howling Wolf, I saw several council members glance at each other and take stronger notice in what I was saying.” She chuckled, “I took advantage of that interest and told how the Council of Elders decided to send a delegation to talk with Howling Wolf and find out the truth of things for themselves.”
“I then described the armed strike force I had seen waiting by an air transport back at the mountain complex when we returned. I also told how we five members of the Council of Elders had been immediately arrested and held for an entire week without being told why. The man in uniform was a pasty white by now and struggling for composure. I told them how we tried every possible way to make contact with the city itself. We needed to see if the City was aware of these things and if it supported them. I told how the Council of Elders had tried all ways possible to reach the city but been blocked and told it was forbidden. That is why in a last ditch effort we chose to fly a delegation over the city walls and speak with the city officials directly.”
“They didn’t know what to think or say,” she chuckled. “There was a dead silence as the City Council looked toward the man in uniform and waited for his response. He was clearly uncomfortable and said that he was not prepared to respond to these allegations and needed to consult with his superiors.”
“The Mayor then asked what the Council of Elders would like to have happen. I said the Council of Elders would like to ensure the safety of the villagers and Howling Wolf. They would like communication between the village and the city so they could monitor and address any abuses that were happening.
I mentioned this could be done by opening new communication lines to the city from the base in the mountain where we were stationed. I concluded by saying this was a matter for the Elders of the village, the City Council and our own Council of Elders and there were many things that needed to be discussed and brought out into the open. We also wanted the rogue attacks to stop and whoever was responsible for them to be punished.”
Ellen continued her story, “The Mayor looked pretty grim and told us the City Council would need to do its own research and find out what was going on. They also needed to hear from the Federation, and he looked pointedly at the uncomfortable man in uniform. He suggested they adjourn until next month and set a time to meet again here in the city and asked for a vote from the City Council. All voted in approval.
He then asked if the City Council approved a direct communication line to be opened so the Council of Elders could contact them and keep them informed of developments. Again all voted in approval. At that, the Mayor asked the uniformed person if it would be possible for the Federation to open a communication channel for the Council of Elders or whether the City Council needed to do it. He saluted and said the Federation would provide the link.”
“ I think it’s bugged,” Ellen continued, “but it’s more than we had before.”
She continued, “Then the Mayor adjourned the meeting and escorted us back to our air sleds. He told me we had done a very brave thing coming into the city and they would look into our story and be looking forward to our meeting next month.”
Ellen completed her story and looked at the others.
“So it seems things are happening. Hopefully next month we will know more about what is going on.”
They talked a bit more and asked more questions until they reached the point where they just needed to leave things and process them later. The talk shifted to other subjects.
The big news was Rafe had gotten his sixth chevron and would be leaving with Ellen after the party to get his Master’s initiation. With all that was going on, he was eager to get his own air sled and do some snooping around on his own even though Ellen was warning him not to.
The meeting broke up and most of them went back to the dance. Tobal spent a little more time in his farewells with Becca. After a final kiss and hug, he took his pack and left in the pouring rain.
Tobal was getting impatient. It had been almost one year and he wanted to move on into the Journeyman degree. After Tyrone soloed this month he would have five chevrons. He only needed one more newbie to train. He was no fool. After talking with the others he knew at least eleven of them wanted newbies to train and they would be lucky if five showed up. He left immediately in the rain heading for sanctuary. He had not been the only one with that idea. Kevin and Zee were already there ahead of him when he finally got there a few days later.
April rolled around and spring was in the air. Tyrone was on his solo and Tobal was at sanctuary waiting for a newbie to show up. There had already been three and it was not likely there would be any more this month, but he was determined to hold his place in line and get it over with. Kevin and Zee and some others had already taken their newbies and left. This would be his last trainee and then he would be ready for the 2nd degree. He wondered about his last student and who it would be.
Would it be a boy or a girl, somehow it didn’t matter. The skills they needed were all the same. He thought about his last five newbies. Some like Melanie and Crow he had grown very close to. Others like Nick, he hadn’t hit it off with and didn’t see very often. Sarah and Tyrone were fun to hang around with and he loved doing things with them, but they weren’t really that deep and sometimes he missed the serious side of life.
Still, he wasn’t prepared when Llana walked through the door for the first time and claimed sanctuary. He did a double take as he saw a fierce Native American warrior dressed in soft decorative buckskin with a claw necklace around her neck and tattoos on her face.
She was tall and good looking with straight ebony hair like Zee’s. She was about his age, older than most of the newbies and from the village. She was Crow’s older sister. He remembered Crow had a sister but hadn’t thought he would meet her here. He was shocked at how little he really knew of Crow and his family. She had been training with Howling Wolf since she was a little girl.
“I can’t train you,” he said in dismay.
Tobal’s pulse quickened, the cave’s echo fading as he braced for her reply. She studied him, her gaze steady, before speaking. “Why not?” She looked at him pointedly.
“I already went through this with Crow,” he protested. “You already know more than I do. I can’t teach you anything you don’t already know. It would be wrong to take credit for teaching you when I didn’t.”
She relaxed a little. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”
He nodded glumly.
“Let me ask you something,” she said quietly. “Do you have any doubt in your ability to train newbies in survival skills? Any doubt at all? Even the smallest?”
“No I don’t,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Last fall I had to give additional training to three of my newbies so they would be ready for winter. I thought they were trained well enough and then realized they weren’t, so I took extra time and gave them more training.”
She nodded, “Nobody made you do that did they?”
“No.”
“What does the Council of Elders think of your training?”
“I’m one of the better trainers.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the newbies I train are happier and healthier than a lot of the others. They also seem to make good trainers themselves and most are willing to train through the winter.”
She smiled at him. “Your parents created this program to bring people up to a certain skill level in both knowledge and demonstrated ability. Do you believe you have reached that skill level and are ready to move on to the next?”
“Yes I do.”
“But you can’t advance because the program will not allow early advancement even if you are already prepared correct?”
He nodded, “That’s right.”
“Well, I’m in the same situation,” she said. “I already know how to survive, how to defend myself, and I am also a healer. I also know advanced techniques that my grandfather taught your parents and other advanced techniques that your parents in turn taught my grandfather.”
“Can you talk to my parents?” He interrupted.
“Yes,” she nodded biting her lower lip. She paused, letting the weight settle.
“Are they going to be alright? Can we save them?”
“Tobal,” she said slowly, with pain in her eyes. Her voice softened, eyes glistening with shared pain. “Your parents are no longer human, and they are dying. They are asking for our help.”
“What do you mean, no longer human?” he shouted. “I see them and talk with them during circle.”
“What you see and talk with are their spirits,” she whispered. “They have developed their spirit bodies to the point where they are almost physical. In fact, once their spirit bodies were physical and they could go anywhere they wished by changing their physical bodies to energy and teleporting instantly to where they wanted to go. They can’t do that anymore. That’s the problem. The Federation keeps their spirit bodies deliberately corrupted so it can use their vital life force for their own projects.”
She shuddered, “Your uncle captured them and imprisoned them. He wired them like electrical components into the circuitry of their time travel machine and they have been kept alive artificially for over twenty years in special fluid-filled tanks.” Tobal’s breath caught, the image searing his mind.
“Tobal,” she said looking hard into his face with tears in her eyes. “I have traveled in the spirit to where they are kept imprisoned. Their physical bodies have mutated and become grossly deformed. Only their spirits remain human. They wish to be free of their physical bodies and become simply the Lord and Lady. But your uncle won’t let them die.”
“I need to see!” He sobbed in denial and fear. “I need to know for myself. I need to see them and talk with them. I need them to tell me.”
She put her arms around him as his shoulders shook and comforted him till he regained his composure.
Wiping angry tears from his eyes, he asked, “You’ll teach me?”
She held him against her breast. “I’ll teach you, Tobal. I promise.”
The first thing she taught him was the story of his parents and their classified research involving time travel. Ron and Rachel had built a matter transmission machine and tested it. This machine used powerful pulsating magnetic fields at certain resonant frequencies, powered by the earth’s own core energies, to create a gateway into time and space, much like the ones in current use for matter transmission. The problem was that mineral and crystalline objects would work, but organic materials would not.
After several years of research, Ron and Rachel developed the first gateway or portal that allowed living matter to be transported through it to target locations and began using it themselves. Something about their soul relationship allowed them to work together in a very powerful and unknown way. This was an important military breakthrough, or could have been. It allowed troops to be transported instantly from one area to another and was immediately highly classified. But it never worked unless Ron and Rachel were a part of it.
It was purely by accident the time-traveling capability was developed. One of the giant capacitors malfunctioned while transmitting Ron and Rachel to a target location. It threw the entire machine out of phase, and Ron and Rachel ended up in the 16th century.
When they didn’t appear at the target location, retrieval was attempted, and they were brought back successfully. They also brought some artifacts back with them. From that point on, the classified research became about time travel, not troop transmission.
By trial and error, they were able to travel into the past and into the future and achieved access to four historical time periods and four future time periods. Each time period seemed to act as a nexus point in time and space. If the machine wasn’t keyed to a nexus point, nothing happened. There were nine stable points in all, including the world we live in, and they were called: Hel, Niflheim, Svartalfheim, Vanaheim, Midgard, Alfheim, Jotunheim, Muspelheim, and Asgard after Nordic mythology.
Working with the machine gave access to other probable worlds that were not as stable. It was like working random codes until you found one that worked. The process was slow and frustrating but also highly exciting at the same time. That was when the problems arrived. Ron and Rachel were able to go back in time through the machine, but no one else could and live to tell about it. The machine did horrible things to those that tried, drove them insane or deformed their bodies. No one knew why it only worked for his parents. Howling Wolf says that your parents were divine counterparts. He said time travel only worked with special couples whose souls were linked together. The Time Knights called the females spinners, because they were able to weave new timelines with their partners.
“I’ve met some Time Knights,” Tobal interrupted. “Lucas and Carla. They are going to help free my parents, but I haven’t heard from them for a while.”
“Really,” Llana said pensively. “That is very interesting. I would like to meet them.”
They had developed the necessary training programs to prepare other time travelers. But the machine only worked for Ron and Rachel. It was a classified military project, and a team of scientists worked furiously to remodel the machine and make it work with other people.
It was only when both Ron and Rachel were hooked into the circuit with the machine at the same time and used as buffers that others were able to go through it. Tobal’s Uncle Harry was the first one to successfully time travel through the machine when it was hooked up in this fashion. He led a team through the machine several times to many previously unknown time periods in addition to those that your parents had discovered on their own.
There were problems with this because Ron and Rachel were not willing to be wired into the machine for hours at a time waiting for other time travelers to come and go. Trips into the past or future could only take two hours at the most, and the drain on Ron and Rachel was severe. Their health suffered each time they hooked themselves into the machine and others used it.
Ron and Rachel were able to time travel themselves without any of those restrictions and could be away for weeks at a time. They felt it was more important they be allowed to make extended trips and do research than be confined and wired to the machine so others could experience briefly what they could do for extended periods. They altered the machine and designed different programs searching for ways that others could use it.
Still, the machine would only work if Ron and Rachel were wired into it. They tried wiring other time traveler couples into the machine, and it killed them. It almost killed his Uncle Harry when he tried wiring himself and his wife into the machine. It did kill her and left his uncle paralyzed.
That was when his uncle went mad and had the gathering spot attacked and the villagers massacred. Ron and Rachel were seized and forcibly wired permanently into the machine and declared dead. That was when the program was officially closed down.
That was the story the Federation knew and was trying to keep secret. But there was much more to the story than that. There was an even greater part only Howling Wolf had known. Halfway through the project’s developmental stages, Ron and Rachel were beginning to think that the problem was with the people and not with the machine itself. They discovered Howling Wolf and his secret shaman bi-location ability.
His parents thought this additional training was needed and started working in secret with Howling Wolf and a handful of others at the gathering spot on the lake. It was after Howling Wolf’s training on bi-location that they realized they no longer needed the machine to time travel to places they had already visited. They met in a secret place under the waterfall at the lake to do this training. It was where they would travel back in time and return with items to prove they had done it. That was when the Time Knights showed up. They had higher technology and understood time travel a lot more. It was not necessary for the team to be divine counterparts; they could also be soulmates. So members of a team could change partners if they were all trained properly. Not only that, but once a team traveled to a location in time and space, they could revisit it by themselves because the pathway had already been formed. Time Knight teams could also take others through the time rift with them if they were vibrationally pure enough.
Howling Wolf needed help to time travel at first. Ron and Rachel had linked together with him and had made several trips back into different time periods. Later he was able to go to those same locations but he was not able to go to new ones. It seemed the machine opened the gateway the first time and that once it was opened by a spinner and a person properly attuned, they could travel through it at will. Even Ron and Rachel had needed the machine to open the gateway the first time to new locations.
At the lake, the group discovered two people who had already been to a specific time period could take a third person without using the machine. Once that person had been taken and brought back, they could make the journey on their own without help. Still, they were only allowed access to the four future times and four historical times that Ron and Rachel had personally gone to. They were not able to go to the alternate probable realities that had been discovered while Ron and Rachel were wired into the machine.
Llana had completed this training, but her grandfather couldn’t link with her well enough to take her through by himself. He needed one other person to be able to do this. Both Ron and Rachel had linked with him and taken him through. There needed to be one more person to take Llana through without the machine, and there were no others.
Howling Wolf thought they were all gone. All except Ron and Rachel, he and the others had called them the Lord and Lady. They were still there in the mountain complex held prisoner and alive. Things were not right because they were both ill and were both slowly dying.
Llana felt they needed her help, and she needed their help to time travel. She had talked with them in the spirit, and they had told her they would help her.
Then Llana spoke of the massacre at the lake and how the small group of people had been below in the cave time traveling when it had happened. Howling Wolf and the others had emerged from the cave only to find their families murdered. They had buried them in a mass grave and raised the pile of stones over the dead bodies. Afterward, they had left, not knowing whom to trust and knowing their very lives were in danger if they were ever found.
This was all news to Tobal, and he was beginning to think she was crazy until he remembered Fiona had said something about time travel. He thought about the strange shop in Old Spokane with its “replicas” and suddenly he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He hadn’t thought about Heliopolis as having the secret technology of time travel the Federation was willing to kill for. The Federation would kill to keep it and would kill to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands.
Suddenly he thought of Sarah’s father, Adam, and knew Adam and Howling Wolf could teach Llana time travel if they did it together. They were both trained and could take her with them if they went together, at least to the locations his parents had gone to. Lucas and Carla could also teach him more if he were properly prepared. He thought about telling Llana about Adam and decided to wait until he had been trained so he could go with her at the same time. They didn’t need his parents to time travel, but they might need to time travel to rescue his parents.
He thought of circle and the pagan rituals they practiced with the Lord and Lady. They represented much more than the old ways suddenly, and he liked them that way. They were ways to communicate with his father and his mother who were still alive and needing his help. Then he thought about the 3rd degree and the medics flying around in air sleds and the med-alert bracelets they all wore, and suddenly a throbbing headache crept in as he grappled with the med-alert bracelets’ implications, shifting his focus to Crow’s spirit teachings.
Llana’s lessons offered a new path, teaching him to draw energy from the earth’s depths. One evening, she pressed his palms to a gnarled oak, its bark cool under his touch, guiding a surge that left him steady yet awed as a deer approached. She taught him how to use the earth’s energy to make himself stronger, how to stand against a tree and recharge himself after reaching the point of exhaustion. She also taught him how to control that energy and send it out. He shook off the pain, eager to learn her ways, turning to her with renewed focus.
He saw her one time walk up to a deer and pet it. Birds would come to her when she called them. Llana said the spirits of the plants and animals talked to her and told her what they wanted or how to make use of them. As the sap started running in the trees, they collected maple sap to boil down for maple syrup and collected other newly sprouting plants and herbs for medicinal uses. Tobal vowed to master these skills, a step toward freeing his parents from their wired prison.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Your stay here is no more. I know the Portugieser. They will be hard on him, and he’ll whistle. And at night they’ll get you out of bed. Take my advice, brother, you’ve always been faithful and it’s a pity for you that we forced you into a drinking and roughhousing Order: In Thistlesbruck are recruiters of the King of Prussia, who let trumpets and violins and wine flow, and gold foxes patter on the table.” “Soldier – you mean? -” I asked, trepidatiously. “Do you want to be excavated tomorrow and lie in the tower on the straw with the bed bugs? You know that there will be no help from the principal and the senate, if someone has to take the blame. If you still had your mother’s pennies – but like this! There is no other way, comrade, than to run behind the calfskin. There you are as safe as if you were in Abraham’s bosom.” I was frightened and bitterly remorseful about the years of my youth, which I had so wickedly squandered. “Don’t fool around,” urged Haymon. “I mean it honestly. And if it hadn’t happened with the Ansbacher, how long would you have been able to play with your feathered cap and a racket? There is one thing called ultima ratio, and this is it. No amount of twisting or intriguing can change it. By day and dew you can be in Thistlesbruck. By the bridge you can already hear the roar in the ‘Merry Bombardier’. And now, old Swede, God protect you, and so that life may bring us together once again.” He kissed me quickly on both cheeks and turned. “Here you can have my rapier, and here – cut off the four silver buttons that still hang on my Gottfried,” I said. But Haymon only shook his head mutely and disappeared into the shadows. Slowly I walked along the road to Distelsbruck. I tore the crimson-yellow-blue feather from my hat and threw it into the next stream. And went on. I was sick to death from the Hungarian wine, tobacco smoke and noise for three days. Whenever the timpanist struck the cymbals, it drove like a painful lightning through my devastated brain. “O my Bärbele -!” howled one of the caged birds, with whom I was sitting at the table. “Yes, and what will the Herr Father say?” jeered the hussar who was guarding us, so that no one could escape who had taken hand money and drank to Friderici’s health. The lad bawled even louder. Then they held a glass of wine to his mouth and tipped it. So he had to swallow, if he did not want to completely suffocate. And then he became silent. “And you?” the moustache turned to me. “Did you do something wrong, that you got into the yarn of the recruiters? You don’t seem to me to be one of the stupid ones.” The sergeant came up to us, decorated with gold cords and dressed up with braids and buttons, so that the poor peasants would run more easily to him. “That’s the best of them all,” he said to the cavalier and pointed to me. “The only good ones are those who come of their own accord. For the coat with the blood- splatters, fellow, you get a new one from His Majesty!” And in the rosy glow of the approaching day I saw with horror that my right sleeve showed many dark stains, stains from the blood of Heilsbronner’s death wound. For this I was now cruelly sold. I looked around like one who is drowning in wild waters and looks for rescue. But there was no help. All around were soldiers with a cold look and at the table were the poor rogues who yesterday and before yesterday had jumped in the dance with the prostitutes and had thrown thalers, feasted and shouted and talked about the merry life of a soldier, which would now begin. In the doorway and in front of the window stood a hussar with a loaded carbine, and I had to follow behind one of them in a red monkey uniform with a saber and saddle pistol. In the miserable room it smelled musty from spilled wine, and from the puddles, of those who had let it trickle out of their wells in the corners. A haze rose that bit into the eyes. “Stop that doodling and whistling!” the sergeant suddenly shouted. The music stopped and the tired musicians puffed out their breaths; they went to divide the money that lay in heaps on the table in front of them. The sergeant buttoned and thoughtfully knotted the golden tassels and catch cords from the dolman, carefully wrapped them in paper for another time and then shouted into the hall: “Up, lads, up! Everybody get going!” “Where to?” shouted a cheeky one with a cheese-blowing face. “Where to? Where they dig a hole in the sand for you and put three shots over it, snotty nose!” laughed the sergeant. “Whoever still has wine in his glass, throw it down. The wagon will be harnessed, my little birds!” He drove us out. There were eight of us on the ladder wagon. On the trestle sat a hussar and two behind us. The others trotted alongside. The Moravians pulled up. People came out of the houses and talked quietly with each other. One wept bitterly when she saw the soul-seller driving away with his people. “Oh, dear Lord!” one of them wailed. “O Mother, mother! Let me go free -“ Then the sergeant trotted up and shouted: “Shut up, damned fellow!” “Mercy, Herr!” cried the poor wretch. “Let me, for the blood of Christ, just this time go free and single! I am so sorry!” “Have you already wet the seat, peasant girl?” he sneered from the horse. “Look at the student there next to you; he’s not twisting like a maiden the first time. Now let up with your snotting and blubbering!” The boy raised his hands and whimpered: “Have mercy! I can now and never live the hard life of a soldier -“ Then the non-commissioned officer drove the horse so close that the white foam from the bit flew onto our coats, and roared in a horrible voice: “Peasant sow, dirty one! Should I leave you right here on a slab, or should I wait until we get there, where we will soon be, and have you flailed, so that you can’t pull your pants off the open flesh, you bastard, you recruit’s ass!” Then the lad hung his head and kept silent. We went out of the village, and the children followed us for a while. But they didn’t scream, as children usually do at every spectacle. They stopped by the two linden trees at the wayside shrine and looked behind us with wide eyes. But there was one that sat by the lime trees and looked at me, with the same eyes – full of compassion and pure kindness. It was a man in a reddish-brown robe, with a string of yellow beads around his neck and chest. Under the black turban around his head was a face of indescribable mildness and beauty. It was the man who had approached me in the church when they sang the lament for Jerusalem. Ewli, the man from the east. I jumped up from my seat and spread my arms out to him. But suddenly I did not see him any longer. Only the gray weathered stone of the Wayside Shrine was between the old trees. “What are you up to, recruit? Do you want to run away from us?” shouted the sergeant. I sat down on the shaking and bumping board, and in spite of all the misery I suddenly felt light and joyful, as if nothing serious could happen to me for all eternity.
It was a thousand times and a thousand times worse than I had ever imagined, and now I knew, how to deal with the common man. Of course, there were some bad fellows among my comrades -. I was the musketeer Melchior Dronte. I concealed my nobility, so that I would not get more scorn like pepper added to a bitter meal. My shoulders ached from the rough blows of the corporal’s baton, which danced on all of us during the exercises, my left eye was swollen from the lieutenant’s beating me with the riding whip, my hands were chapped and torn from the rifle lock, and pus oozed from under the nail of my right thumb when I attacked something. Vermin itched and ate all over my entire body. My body was tired to death. So that morning, when the drums were going, I could hardly get up. Twice I tried to lift myself up, and twice I fell back. The barracks elder poured a bucket of ice-cold dirty water over my body and pulled me out of bed by my legs. The old soldiers were a thousand times rougher than all the officers and non-commissioned officers. To one who remained in a deep sleep, they stuck pitch on the big toe and set it on fire. There was a great laughter, when the poor devil, half mad with fright, howling and screaming ran around in the sleeping quarters. Quickly we washed ourselves at the well, crunched up lice, which got between our scratching fingers, and drank our half nösel of brandy, which the camp followers poured out, with the black bread. The braids were twisted together so that the back of the head ached, the gaiters were buttoned. When we were standing in the yard, the hazel sticks were distributed from man to man. They had lain in the well water all night and whistled venomously when they cut through the air. The battalion stood in two ranks. “First rank – two steps forward! March! Halt! -About face!” Two long, endless lines stood face to face. The provost brought the deserter. He was from my unit.
Introduction: The Hermetic art unveils divine wisdom as the soul’s path to universal truth, accessible through disciplined reason and faith. This section reflects on the art’s transformative power, urging the adept to overcome sensory barriers and seek the light within.
The Enchanted Fortress of Wisdom
The Hermetic art, as Atwood explains, guards divine wisdom within an “enchanted fortress,” impervious to curiosity or sensory demands. This wisdom, not disproven by external evidence, requires introspective proof, as the ancients’ disciplined inquiry revealed. The “Well of Heraclitus,” where truth lies hidden, invites the adept to probe the soul’s depths, transcending the limitations of modern logic.
Faith, the “loadstone” of hope, guides this journey, as the ancients’ practices—unlike today’s fragmented sciences—united reason with divine insight, awakening the soul to its radiant essence, free from the “thraldom of sense.”
The Call for Rational Faith
The Hermetic art demands a fusion of reason and faith, as Atwood asserts: “Faith is the attracting loadstone which hope pursues.” Unlike modern institutions, which lack transformative rites, the art offers a disciplined path to recreate the mind, dissolving the “inbred evil” of selfishness through divine light. This process, akin to the alchemical dissolution and coagulation, restores the soul to universal harmony.
The adept, through persistent inquiry, overcomes the “manifold evils” of life, as the ancients did, achieving a wisdom that transcends sensory knowledge and aligns with the divine will, promising eternal fulfillment.
The Promise of Universal Truth
The Hermetic art, as Socrates and Democritus suggest, reveals the “Nothing” that is everything—the universal truth within the soul. By abandoning selfhood, the adept becomes a vessel of divine wisdom, as Plato and the Kabalah teach, ruling over the elemental world. This science, unlike empirical knowledge, offers a “crystalline edifice of Light,” uniting all faculties in a harmonious pursuit of truth.
Closing: This chapter unveils the Hermetic art’s call for rational faith, guiding the soul to universal truth. The journey into its modern rediscovery deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
“And now attention!” He opened his mouth wide, put his lower lip tightly to the glass and let the wine gurgle down his throat with a loud belch. “Hell, plague, and whore child!” cursed Finch. “He does it, by the devil’s ear-washes – he does it!” Only a residue was left in the glass, not worth mentioning. But still too much. For before it ran down, Montanus opened his eyes wide, as if in a sudden fright, so that one saw the blood veins swell in the white eyes, and his face became dark blue. Then the boot fell and broke into pieces. The hands let go of it and reached into the air. A gurgling came from the open mouth. And then fat Montanus fell like a sack to the floor, so that the chair, which he was dragging along, crumbled under the weight of his body. Haymon, who had studied medicine for many years and understood some of it, knelt down by him, let his hand rest on the chest of the fallen man for a while, then stood up and groaned, “Died! Apoplexia! Has already gone to Hell, our fat goose-eater. Fiducit!” Sweat stood on his brow. I felt nauseous. But Hercules bent down nimbly, reached into the pockets of the dead man, found the purse and shook a few coins and a Marien ducat onto the table. “There you have your winnings, Nebuchadnezzar”, said Haymon and immediately pushed Finch the silver watch with the chain and the stone. Then he tossed me the pennies and nodded: “Take it! He will never need it!” Then he weighed a ducat in the flat of his hand and said to the suffocated: “Heart brother! This gold fox will be drunk to your memory!” But the dead man gave no answer, and so Haymon shook him a little, so that we heard the wine rumbling in his stomach. “He doesn’t say no!” “And now someone call Venus,” ordered Haymon. “It would be a pity if we left the money for the Manichaeans in the bag. The Jew shall see for himself how he comes to his own, and thus the bear remains firmly tied. – Do not stand there, Mahomet, like a stuck calf, but call Venus to fetch some wine and bring poor Montanus on to some straw in a quiet chamber!” Then I went out into the dark corridor and called out to Venus in a trembling voice.
On the evening of the day when the Jew Lewi told me that my father was no longer going to send any money and that after so many pranks he was now leaving me to my fate, I drank myself crazy and full. Later, the Portuguese came and told us that Phoebus Merentheim had arrived a few days ago and had been employed as a parlor boy by the tall Count Heilsbronn on the Gerbersteig. I left immediately and the entire corona with me. We put a cracked night tile on the head of the stone Roland at City Hall, and on the wall of the beautiful and virtuous Demoiselle Pfisterin, who always had her back turned as we walked languidly by, on the wall just below her window Hercules drew with red chalk a delicate buttocks and wrote with big black letters under it: All the kisses I sent you, connected, you are quite charming! Then we went with many hussahs and hellos over to the city fountain and drove wooden wedges in its four copper dragon tubes, so that the water above, beneath the feet of St. Florian began to bubble. But we courted the mayor on the top five steps of the staircase and stuck a goose tail feather in each pile, because it was said that the Mayoress was dissatisfied with him in puncto puncti. Soon, however, I remembered Phoebus again with his snooty rice soup face, and I urged on to the Gerbersteig. “Shit, Mahomet – take it easy, he won’t run away from you now!” Haymon held me back. “You shall drink his blood today!” For they still had something to do at the pillory. When we arrived at the goose market, the Portuguese had already prepared a paper, a hammer and nails, and while we were keeping watch, he struck the paper against the pillory so that in the morning light everyone could read it and our tormentors and enemies could be recognized: “Shmule Levi, a Jew and a bloodsucker, Abraham Isaac’s son, likewise, Liborius Schmalebank, calls himself a Christian, Gotthelf Titzke, goes to church service every Sunday, Simche from Speyer takes a hundred percent.” We moved on again, and in the dark we shouted at the top of our voices: “Mordio! Firerio! So help us!” until all the windows were lit up and the sleepy city soldiers came trampling down. In the meantime, we were already on our way to the Gerbersteig. “It is as I tell you,” murmured the Portuguese, “Merentheim lives in the same room as the Count of Heilsbronn and is with the Ansbach Student Union.” “Didn’t the Count of Heilsbronn steal the red haired Jule from you, Portugieser?” teased Galenus. “Shut up, or I’ll let out all my water against you, so you’ll drown miserably”, growled the Portuguese angrily. “I have already wiped fifteen of you off my club with two fingers.” “Give peace!” admonished Finch. “Otherwise take your blasphemous speeches before the Committee. – You’d better watch out how little Phoebus will shit his bed linen with fear!” So I stepped forward, just in front of the window, which the Portugieser had pointed out to me, pulled out the little saber and began to wet my feet on the pavement. I shouted at the top of my lungs: “Merentheim! Dog fart! Come out and present yourself! Pereat!” Then the window opened, and a stark naked guy looked out. “Pereat!” I shouted. “Pereat Phoebus Merentheim!” “Camel!” echoed down from above. “What in thunder do I care about your Merentheim who today at two o’clock went to his kin over there?” “I hope you don’t choke on your stinking lie!” I shouted against him. The man above laughed: “You shall have your share, brothers! You just have to be patient, Hans Unknown, until I’ve donned my shirt and have a sword in my hand!” And he slammed the window shut so that the glass shards rained down. But then we saw a little light wandering in the room until it was dark again. We heard footsteps in the corridor; a key turned in the lock, and in the doorway appeared the tall Count Heilsbronn, dressed in shirt, pants and a long sword under his arm and his hat with the scarlet and white feathered cap of the Ansbachers on his head. The moon was just coming out from behind the clouds, and it was light enough to see the wild, scarred face of the old braggart. “All by the rules, Herr Brother!” interposed the Bavarian Haymon as we wanted to quickly draw our blades. “You, Portuguese, serve as second for the Ansbacher Herr and me for Mahomet! Get ready! Go!” I pushed nimbly, but didn’t hit him. He parried as fast as lightning and was at home with all feints. I hit a wrong quarte, because he drove under me and sliced, burning my upper arm. I quickly fell back and struck hard, slid off and stabbed him deep in the chest. The sword fell rattling from his hand. “Stop there!” immediately roared the Portuguese and held his blade in front of me. “That sits,” gurgled Heilsbronner. “A lung foxer.” His pitted face looked green in the moonlight. “Take me – to bed, Herr Brother – to” He fell into Haymon’s arms, spat out quite a bit of bloody foam and rolled his eyes. There was a dark stain in his shirt that spread like spilled ink on a bad piece of paper. “By all the sacraments, help me hold the man,” gasped the Bavarian Haymon. “He makes himself heavy as if -“ We jumped over and took hold. “When I fall asleep, it’s over for me”, whispered the Ansbach man and blew blood again.”The rosary above my bed is moving back and forth by itself. If only I had had my heavy intoxication, you might have long stood there and shouted pereat -“ And shrilly: “It crushes – me – my – heart -“ We lowered him to the ground. I broke out in a sweat. “He’s gone,” shouted the Portuguese. “You take to your heels. The windows are already opening.” From above they shouted. “Damned boys and ragamuffins! Won’t you be quiet down there?” “I want to salt their hams with rabbit shot,” one shouted rudely. We heard many feet pattering, coming closer. The guard ran up. “One of them never moves. – Guard! Guard! Mordio!” clamored a woman. We ran as fast as we could, a jumping stick flew between my feet, so that I would have fallen. Haymon stayed beside me, the other was off. We had heard screaming. He had jumped over a fence and sank deep into a buried cesspool. They had him all ready. “Brother!” The Bavarian Haymon breathed in quickly from the long race and leaned against an old wall. “Your stay here is no more.
Introduction: The Hermetic art unveils the philosopher’s stone as a universal key to truth, uniting mind and matter in divine harmony. This chapter concludes the journey, reflecting on the art’s transformative power and its call for rational inquiry.
The Philosopher’s Stone Unveiled
The Hermetic art, as ancient philosophers attest, crafts the philosopher’s stone from the “Universal Subject,” a pure fire within an ethereal vapor. This stone, perfected through disciplined labor, transmutes not species but their essence, as the adept, humanity’s perfect laboratory, refines the soul’s vitality into divine light. The process, guided by reason and faith, reveals the “true Form of Gold,” a radiant principle of increase.
This art, as Atwood explains, explores the soul’s hidden capacity, uniting the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms within. Through alchemical operations, the adept uncovers the “Ethereal Hypostasis,” a luminous essence that transcends sensory limits, as evidenced by the ancients’ mystical practices.
The Sacred Mysteries and Mesmerism
The Hermetic art connects to ancient mysteries, like those at Eleusis, which were not mere rituals but inductions into divine wisdom. Mesmerism, a modern echo, serves as a “first key” to this temple, opening the soul’s vestibule where the Sphinx’s enigma awaits. Only the philosopher, with rational insight, can navigate this path to the inner halls of light, as Atwood suggests, blending spiritual and material realms in a “confluent harmony.”
The adept’s journey, marked by perseverance and purity, overcomes intellectual and sensory obstacles, proving the stone’s reality through experiential truth, as countless sages have testified.
The Call for Rational Inquiry
The Hermetic art, unlike fragmented modern sciences, unites moral and physical realms, as Atwood argues, offering a causal science that transcends sensory evidence. It demands a philosopher of “antique mould,” ardent for wisdom, to pursue truth through disciplined inquiry. The stone’s light, kindled within, radiates to overcome ignorance, promising a universal truth that aligns with divine will.
Closing: This chapter unveils the Hermetic art’s universal significance, uniting mind and matter in divine light. The journey into its modern relevance deepens in our next post, unveiling further secrets of this sacred art.
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